Feyd watched from a safe distance. The Ward, the firey wall. All well played out. He hadn't had a Deryni in Gwynedd that was a worthy target for many years. Most bearly know that they were Deryni.

As he sat on his horse he knew this was a possiblity. That the Morgan would escape. In fact he had planned on it so it wouldn't take him by surprise when it did. But this Morgan could carry himself so well even under a dose of Merasha. Feyd thought next time it will be two.

One of Feyd's men paniced at the sight of the wall of flames and ran in the other direction. But the other tested it to see if it was real or only seen in the mind's eye.

This would become a waiting game. Feyd's men could hid again in the nearby woods in ambush. Those within the Ward would have to come out for food and water within a few days. They could keep on their tail nipping at their heals the whole way to Rheumuth.

Feyd of course already knew that the ambush here might not work, especially if the Morgan got away before they could put him on a horse. He knew what his next move would be and smiled before he continued to ride off.

Aliset had managed to coax a few drops of the precious elixir she had between Sir Washburn's lips. She was tempted to split the entire amount between him and Darcy in hopes it might help them recover from the merasha poison in their systems faster, but she dared not. There was no telling when she might be able to refill the vial, and they might yet need more of it in future. Sighing, she stoppered the vial again and replaced it carefully in her bag.

Looking up at Father Columcil with a sad smile, she remarked, "I am so sorry you got dragged into all of this!"

Doubtless the priest was equally sorry he'd been dragged into her troubles, but if the thought crossed his mind, he was kind enough not to say so. He smiled back sympathetically, declining to answer.

Looking outside the wards at the retreating foes, she noticed Master Stanly deftly sidestepping his attacker before dashing away towards the clearing beyond the treeline towards the road, two men riding forward to assist him to safety even as Talbert got the wagons on the move again. The cheese maker was seemingly uninjured and unimpeded, much to Aliset's relief, his assailant having drawn back to rejoin his companion, no doubt still lurking just out of sight nearby, though just now Aliset was too drained to search for them. Bit it appeared that Master Stanly would not pay the ultimate price for his assistance to Sir Washburn, and for that mercy Aliset offered up a silent prayer of thanksgiving. There was enough weighing on her conscience without adding an innocent man's death to her growing list of sins.

"I meant to allow that poor man into the wards with us," she confessed to Father Columcil, "but as it turned out, there was not enough time, and I had to close the gate to protect the others. I hope Master Stanly can bring himself to forgive me someday." She swallowed hard. "That is, if he lives long enough to do so. Do you think our enemies will go after the caravan?"

The priest turned up one palm in a "Who can say?" gesture. "I can't think what possible advantage there would be to them to do so, but then again, I'm not entirely clear on our pursuers' motives in the first place. Is Caer Mariot so desirable a manor that there'd be this much effort put to capturing an escaped heiress just to secure it? There is more going on here than meets the eye, I begin to think."

Aliset nodded. "I begin to think so as well. I know that in addition to his crimes against my family, that Cousin Oswald is in league with certain others who wish to see Meara established as a separate kingdom once more. I had meant to warn the King of that when I make my petition for protection and justice to him. But I think now that perhaps there might be more trouble brewing than the overthrow of just one family manor. I have had little time to speak to you or the others of the visions that I've seen of a dark man--a man who has the look of a foreigner about him--who seems to have taken an interest in us. The man whose amulet we destroyed was sent by him, not by Oswald, although they might be working in league with each other. I did not recognize the face, but he seems a powerful Deryni, whoever he is. Might I show you what I've seen? I think it would be best if I show you all, for with so powerful an enemy, if aught should happen to me, hopefully at least one of our number might survive to warn the King."

Columcil looked outside the wards at the shadowy woods surrounding them. "Aye, though first we need to figure out how to survive long enough to leave these woods again, much less continue on towards Rhemuth! Although you might be heartened to know Sir Washburn managed to contact His Grace of Corwyn, who even now is riding this way with reinforcements to give us safe escort back to Rhemuth. Unfortunately, we were to meet him in the lowlands beyond the borders of Meara, but whether we will be able to do so now, God alone knows."

Aliset stroked a sweaty lock of hair off Wash's brow as she contemplated the news. "But His Grace would surely continue on in this direction if we don't meet him as scheduled, would he not? 'Tis cause for hope, at least. And before coming here to shield Master Darcy, I sent riders back to Droghera to seek aid for us--perhaps you remember, if you were not focusing so much on causing panic amongst our enemies' horses to take note of it-- so hopefully help will arrive even sooner than His Grace of Corwyn could possibly get here. Let's hope so, anyway. I like not the thought of having to camp out here for days with naught to eat but the few provisions on our persons."

"Not to mention the lack of ... other conveniences," Columcil said drily. "Though I suppose things could be worse."

Aliset arched a brow at him, glancing down at their other two companions, even now moaning in troubled slumber. She looked back up at Columcil questioningly. "Worse? How!"

"Well, we could be dead. Or you might be back on your way home to Oswald, which I'd gathered you would like nearly as well."

Aliset pondered the lack of other conveniences the priest had alluded to. Oh mercy, what if they were stuck in here for hours, or even days? There was no certainty of help arriving from the village, after all; what if the gate guards decided enough trouble was enough, and simply shut and locked the gates to prevent further problems from descending upon the town? No, they needed some sort of a back-up plan, just in case the worst should happen and they were stuck in this ward longer than any of them had counted on.

Looking around her, she spotted a twig and began to scratch frantically at the dirt near the periphery of the shimmering dome wall surrounding them.

Father Columcil gave her a questioning look as she attempted to dig a hole. "What is it you are trying to do, my child? Perhaps I can be of assistance?"

She spared him a quick look over her shoulder, but continued digging. "I've had the thought that we have no idea when rescue will come, or even if it will. In the meantime, I think it would be best if we have at least the most basic of conveniences at our disposal while we wait to see how things play out." As he continued to look at her with mild bafflement, she added, the color rising in her cheeks, "I'm digging a latrine."

He blinked owlishly at her. "A latrine?"

The blush deepened. "Aye, Father! We'll surely need one at some point." Scribing a small circle in the dirt before her with one finger, she explained, "I had thought I could raise a screening veil--similar to a ward, but not designed to keep anyone out, simply designed to screen the area from view...."

"Ah." The priest's face cleared as he began to comprehend her plan. "Yes, I can see how a latrine might come in handy while we wait. Might I help, though? I have some skill in woodcraft, after all."

She stared at him in horror. "Oh no, Father! We need your hands! You're our only Healer, after all, and we don't have so much water or wine to spare to wash the dirt off them once Sir Washburn and Master Darcy are recovered enough for you to Heal them! And besides," she added almost as an afterthought, "they're consecrated!"

The priest's lips twitched in an effort not to laugh. "So they are, my child, although I assure you my consecrated hands have handled far worse jobs than digging a hole in the ground. Though you have a point about keeping them as clean as possible until I can Heal our friends. If I might offer a bit of guidance, though, perhaps I can suggest an easier method for digging that hole that will help the work proceed faster? And I think it likely we'll only need a shallow pit, so there's no need to go at it like you're trying to get to the other side of the world."

A few minutes later, once Aliset had managed a hole in the ground that was not quite as deep as she'd planned to dig, but proclaimed deep enough for present purposes by Father Columcil, she spent a few minutes to restore her energies before tracing a circle on the ground around the hole, mumbling the words of a spell that caused a shimmering curtain of reflective fog to arise around it, obscuring the center of the circle from view. Her work complete, she sat back to rest, looking satisfied.

"Let's see how our young friends are faring now," Father Columcil said as he passed a hand over Wash's brow, probing shallowly just enough to test whether the merasha disruption had already passed. "Ah, I think our good knight is past the worst of the effects now. He still has the devil of a headache, and some lingering nausea, but it feels more like a bad hangover than the effect of a high dose of merasha still remaining in his system." He placed his hand over the knight's injury, but before he could summon up the focus necessary to work his Healing powers, the knight's eyes shot open. "Garderobe?!" he croaked, looking around himself in a frantic daze, apparently still quite disoriented and confused.

Aliset mutely pointed towards the shimmering fog. "In there," she replied, her eyes widening as, without questioning, Wash simply nodded and practically dove head-first through the shining curtain. A few seconds later they heard the sounds of heavy retching.

Aliset winced, glancing over at Father Columcil. "Well, at least he's getting any remaining merasha out of his system. Let's see how Master Darcy is faring." Crouching in front of the sleeping mariner, she gently shook him awake. "Master Darcy?"

The man in question stirred, then opened his eyes. He stared up at Aliset in shock before mumbling, "Holy crap, I'm dead!"

The priest chuckled. "No, son, although I'll allow you probably feel like you'd rather be right now. Might I have a look at your wounds?"

Darcy reopened his eyes rather tentatively, staring up at Aliset. "I am dead, and there's my ghost." Sitting up, he looked puzzled. "No, wait, that can't be right." Raising his hand to his forehead, he winced. "I feel awful. What happened?"

"You were hit by a merasha bolt," Aliset explained. "It's a drug that incapacitates Deryni." She waited for the shock of realization to dawn on Darcy's questioning features.

He wasn't looking past her, though, but beyond her now. "Why is there a ghost me sitting on Sir Washburn's head?"

She turned then, noticing Darcy's reflection in the screening mists around the latrine, and giggled. It did rather look as though Darcy sat cross-legged atop the knight, whose body emerged on their side of the foggy partition. At that moment, the rest of Wash emerged, clearing up some, if not all, of the mystery.

"Oh God, I want to die," he muttered.

"Not today, son," Father Columcil assured him. Though perhaps sooner rather than later, if you two don't allow me to tend to your injuries!

Lord Jaxom Trillick slowed his small party to a walk as they approached Droghera. Nothing seemed amiss. The gate stood open to allow travelers and townspeople to go about their business. He noted that a large party had left the town earlier. The ground showed telltale hoofprints from horses and cattle and ruts left by what must have been heavily loaded wagons. They would not be travelling fast.

Droppings left behind by some of the animals reminded him of his task to have someone see to the corpse they had left behind. He would do his duty.

“Take a short time to see to your needs and that of the horses. We will not stay long,” Lord Jaxom said to the senior man-at-arms. “I’ll find the Captain of the Watch and inform him of what we found.” Lord Jaxom dismounted and handed his reins to one of the bowman. His squire did likewise.

The gatekeeper provided directions to the guardhouse where the Captain could be found. It was not far.

Lord Jaxom found the door to the guardhouse open and a man he presumed to be the Captain seated behind a table. He was studying a parchment and looked up when the lord from Trillshire rapped on the door.

Lord Jaxom described the grisly scene they had found and requested someone be dispatched to bring back the body.

“You did not bring it back yourself, my Lord?” the Captain asked with a hint of disapproval in his voice.

“The cart was in no shape to use,” Jaxom replied. “In truth, without a cart, there was no, um, easy way to bring the man here.”

The Captain snorted. Whether the man before him meant easy or pleasant, he was not sure. “This is normally a quiet town. First it was the Lendour knight and his party that got our gatekeeper killed,” the Captain paused to cross himself, “and now the gong farmer is dead.”

“The Lendour knight was here?” Jaxom all but pounced on the words.

“Aye, he still is as far as I know. He and the lady are staying up at the Nunnery.”

Lord Jaxom’s father had not mentioned that Sir Washburn travelled with a lady, but nevertheless, he would speak to Sir Washburn to find out what had happened.

Roll 2 dice to see if the men Aliset sent for help arrive before Jaxom goes to the Nunnery.

Both men turned at a sudden commotion that seemed to be coming from the direction of the town gate.

“Now what?” the Captain muttered as he rose to investigate. Lord Jaxom and his squire followed the Captain, equally interested to find out what was happening. They were met partway by a guardsman running toward them.

“Three of the farm guild masters have returned. There’s been trouble. Someone attacked Lord Morgan and another of his party. There may be injuries.” The guardsman, clearly excited by his news, followed them back to the gate.

Lord Jaxom grew impatient while the Captain calmly questioned the riders that had arrived. Finally, he named off four men and gave them instructions to arm and mount-up. The guild masters would accompany them to return to their group as soon as they were able.

Lord Jaxom saw that his men had reassembled at the sound of the disturbance and stood ready to leave. He signalled for his horse and quickly mounted, as did his squire. “Quickly, Captain. We’d best not waste time.”

The Captain said something low under his breath about glorified young lordlings, but within a few short moments they were through the town gate and galloping down the road.

Logged

From ghoulies and ghosties and long-leggity beasties and things that go bump in the night...good Lord deliver us!

Columcil felt a surge of warmth towards his companions. Inspite of everything he really was not sorry that he had become caught up in their troubles, though he devoutly prayed that they would be able to leave this benighted neighbourhood before long. Everything that they touched seemed to go amiss. God grant that he would not fail in healing his two brave companions, for his practised healer's eye told him that unless he were able to stop the bleeding once the weapons were removed neither would be long for this world. and if the weapons were not removed then they would most likely sicken and die anyway. Who knew what other contaminant might have entered their bodies along with the merasha?

He wished that he had been able to contact Sister Margaret but the medallion that she had given him had proved ineffectual ((2 dice rolls both snake eyes xt5qtxs7 & 2rs0v8fmss)), he was strongly tempted to douse it in his precious stock of holy water and see if that helped. Then he rebuked himself - what sort of priest was he to wish to bring another, and a Sister at that, into such deadly peril. He must simply get on with it himself and pray that God would not hold his sins against him.

He looked at the stricken Darcy, humbled at the man's courage. He wasn't at all sure how he would have reacted to seeing himself walking around, and then to see what he took to be his ghost as well. He spoke gently "Can you lie still for a little longer, my son, while I heal Washburn here. After all he has been through it's a miracle that he is still able to stand, let alone walk."

As he spoke Washburn gave the lie to his words and crumpled sideways - Aliset ran to grap hold of him, glad that she was, if only temporarily, possessed of the seaman's muscles which enable her to bear his weight and lower him gently to the ground. Columcil knelt at his side, then took his cassock out of his pack along with his prayer book. He brought the prayer book to his lips and kissed it reverently, praying once again that the healing power of his father and grandfather would flow true through his veins, and at that moment not caring if any saw and questioned. Then he turned to Aliset, "Once I am in healing trance can you pull the bolt out cleanly. You will need to cut room with your dagger, I will damp the pain as best I can, but God willing he will not regain consciousness until we are done. Wrap your hand in this robe first though, I wouldn't want to find out that there is still some trace of merasha on the blade." He smiled wanly, "I hope that we will all survive to be lectured by another laundress on our careless handling of our clothes."

Aliset nodded, not trusting herself to speak, though her lips moved in silent prayer as Columcil sank into a healing trance, then glanced at her. She was grateful that her father and brother had never prevented her from hunting with them and she silently asked for their guidance as she withdrew her knife from its sheaf and thrust it into the wound, turning the blade so that she could pull the bolt out cleanly. Fresh blood welled up almost immediately but Columcil's hands were there, plunging into the wound and bringing blessed healing. ((dice roll using hero point - we need Washburn to survive - 4+2+5 =11 603xfr9c5h))

Columcil sat back on his heels, closing his eyes in relief. But the task was not yet done. He scrubbed his hands on the rough wool of his cassock, signalling Aliset to throw the crossbow bolt on the ground and clean her hands likewise. Darcy would be more difficult; he was conscious for one thing, and there were two bolts. Besides he had already had enough shocks that day to fell the staunchest of men.

Again he knelt gently at the injured man's side. Darcy was white but bravely met his eyes. "This will be much easier if you will allow me to put you to sleep." Darcy nodded "Anything rather than see me poke around in my own wounds like that. I'll allow that her ladyship is a sight gentler than I am, but yes, Father, go ahead. Maybe I'll wake up in my bunk back at sea, wondering what I ate to give me such a dream." Columcil traced the sign of the cross on the other's forehead then gently laid his hand across the taut skin. Darcy gave a sigh and closed his eyes. Columcil glanced again at Aliset and twice more they worked together to remove the crossbow bolts and heal. ((another hero point we need Darcy too. 3+4+5=12 165ktmc234))

Once again Columcil scrubbed his hands, then with a sudden move he stood up and began to wander around as though looking for something.

"What's wrong, Father? Have you lost something?" began Aliset. She had expected that he would remain on his knees to give thanks, maybe even offer to celebrate Mass, though maybe he would wait until the others regained consciousness. "Water, lass, we need water," he replied distractedly, "and maybe I can just find us some." He stooped suddenly and picked up a twig which forked some half way down it's length. "I've not been Deryni trained like you and yon young lord, but there's many a border farmer who has saved his beasts from dying of thirst by being able to dowse."

((modified to roll to determine how many hit points were healed. Washburn 2, Darcy 3 362rm0qwk))

« Last Edit: February 13, 2018, 04:04:34 pm by revanne »

Logged

"In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God and the Word was God...The Word became flesh and dwelt amongst us and we have seen His glory, full of Grace and truth."Prologue to John's Gospel

King Kelson of Gwynedd looked across his desk at the Archbishop of Rhemuth. After the hastily convened council meeting had concluded, they had retired to Kelson’s study for a private conversation.

“I don’t like this,” he said.

Archbishop Duncan nodded his head in agreement. “This could get nasty very quickly,” he said.

“Or it could smoulder and explode when we least expect it and are unprepared.” The king looked thoughtful. “I need more eyes and ears in Meara.” He motioned to the young page standing unobtrusively by the door. The boy came forward and bowed. “Bring Baron Iain to me.”

A quarter of an hour later, there was a knock on the study door. At Kelson’s crisp command to enter, the door was opened and a man entered, along with the page. The page resumed his post at the door. The man came forward and bowed. The light from the candles reflected brightly off his pale, silvery blond hair.

“My apologies for keeping you waiting, Sire,” the man said as he straightened. “I was preparing to leave for Isles and was not in my quarters.”

Kelson gazed for a moment at the man standing before him. Baron Iain Cameron had been his spy in Meara for nearly eight years. How a man with such distinctive looks could be a successful spy, Kelson had never understood. Nor had he ever asked. He motioned the man to sit in the chair across from his desk.

“I’m afraid I must ask you to change your plans, Baron Iain.”

Baron Iain had worked for the king long enough to know that Kelson was being polite and there would be no question about the ask. “Back to Meara?” he asked calmly. Only Meara would prompt the king to go back on their agreement for a leave of absence, so Iain could take up his duties in Isles after learning of the death of the Dowager Baroness, his mother.

“I have received disturbing news, more disturbing than your last report. Archbishop Duncan, perhaps it would be best if you tell Baron Iain the message you have brought to me.”

Archbishop Duncan relayed all the information he had brought to the king. Iain looked thoughtful, turning various pieces of it over in his mind and matching them to others. The king was right; he needed to return to Meara.

“What do you want me to focus on, Sire? Lord Morgan’s safe return? The potential uprisings among the landholders?” he asked.

“Duke Kelric of Corwyn is moving north as we speak with a force of men to assist with his brother’s return. I want you to concentrate on finding who is behind all this, and if you can stop him, do so. I suspect that whoever is behind the disturbance in Meara has determined Sir Washburn is the more valuable prize. If Kelric fails, though I doubt that will happen, I want you there as another option. Send any information you gather directly to me as often as you can. The more we know, the better.”

“As you wish, Sire.” Iain permitted himself a slight smile. “I left provisions and stabled a good horse near a Portal. I will leave at once.”

“There is one more thing you should know,” Kelson said carefully. He caught a questioning look from Duncan, but he proceeded. “There are several traveling with Sir Washburn besides the Lady Aliset. She contracted a man-at-arms as her original escort, and he continues with them to Rhemuth. His name is Darcy Cameron.”

It was not often that someone took Baron Iain by surprise. Despite his respect for the man, Kelson savored the moment.

“The Darcy Cameron who would be my brother died almost eight, no ten, years ago of a fever,” Iain responded carefully.

“As reported by your stepfather six months after the boy’s death. You never saw the body. The same man now holds Isles in a grip you intend to break.”

“If you are intending this as additional motivation, Sire, it is not needed,” Iain finally said.

King Kelson nodded. “I know that well,” he said. “But if whoever is behind this succeeds in securing Sir Washburn, the man who may be your brother could be collateral damage.”

“If the man is my brother and is still as I remember him, whoever is behind this may find his task more difficult than he expected.” Iain smiled. “My brother was a lot like me.”

“I hope he is a lot like you,” Kelson replied and gave the baron permission to depart.

Logged

From ghoulies and ghosties and long-leggity beasties and things that go bump in the night...good Lord deliver us!

Baroness Ailidh awoke abruptly, but did not open her eyes. She had no need to do so to sense the man in her bedchamber.

She heard his quiet footfalls approach her bed. They were approaching from entirely the wrong direction. He should have been coming from the door to her chamber, although to have done so, he would have had to pass through the antechamber where her maidservants slept, not to mention the man-at-arms on duty outside that antechamber, to reach the inner sanctum of her private bower, the room where she slept alone when Jass was not in residence to share the bed with her. But no. Instead, he crept his stealthy way from the corner of her room where the secret passage behind the paneled wall opened up. Few people knew of the passage which Jass had only recently installed in Trurill in order to allow a quick escape from this wing of the castle in case of an emergency. The new paneled facade had been installed a mere arm's length in front of the original paneled wall, creating a narrow corridor between the two. From inside the room, it was difficult to tell the chamber was any smaller than its original dimensions. And there had been only a small number of workers involved in the creation of the secret passage--fewer than could be counted on one hand. Of those, two had been human, and their memories had been blurred after the construction was completed. In theory, they should only have remembered replacing the aged paneling in the great hall, not the narrow passage that descended from her bedchamber to exit near the Portal in the undercrypt. The third, whose memories had not been altered, was Sir Cillian O Ruane, whom she and Jass had no reason not to trust completely, having owed their very lives to him on several previous occasions, not to mention to his father and grandfather before him.

That left the fourth man, a man-at-arms named Simon, who was born and raised in Trurill, and at least up to this point had seemed to be equally loyal to his Baron and Baroness, if not quite as fiercely so as Sir Cillian...or at least Simon never given Jass and Ailidh any reason to believe otherwise. Simon had not been involved in the actual installation of the paneling concealing the new passage, but Jass had trusted him with guarding the areas where the new construction was being installed, and neither of them had thought to alter his memories of the event after the fact. Simon was Deryni, for one thing, and although he was not a particularly well trained one, it would have been much more difficult to alter his memories without his knowledge, and asking for his consent to do so when he had never given them any reason for distrust might have given inadvertent insult.

This, however, was not Simon in any case. Ailidh was familiar with what Simon's presence felt like. This man stealing towards her now in the pre-dawn darkness did not feel at all familiar to her. However, she was certain that he was Deryni. He could not have entered or emerged from the secret passage unassisted if he was not.

He was almost preternaturally quiet, so much so that had she not had her Deryni gift to enhance already keen senses, she might not have heard the soft footfalls stop just at the edge of her bed, nor the nearly silent swoosh of fabric as the bedcurtain was pulled to one side. He had the advantage of her, or so he might have, were it not for one thing. Thus far, he had not yet sensed that she was already awake. And that gave her the advantage of surprise.

((14:01 Ailidh !roll 2d614:01 derynibot 5, 3 == 8 ))

She sensed more than felt the moment when he picked up the pillow beside her--Jass's empty pillow--moving it towards her face, presumably to smother her with it. Instead, she exploded from her feigned slumber like a fox leaping out of the underbrush ahead of a pack of hounds, one hand catching a descending wrist as her other, holding the sgian dhu she kept under her pillow at all times--for this was, after all, volatile Meara!--slashed a deep line across her attacker's throat.

He crumpled in a pool of his own blood, a warm crimson fountain staining Ailidh's nightrail as she watch him fall upon her bedcovers, then slide to the floor below. Leaping out of bed, she traced a glyph in the air to close the secret passage before cradling his head in her blood-slicked hands to Death-Read who he was and who had sent him.

((14:17 Ailidh !roll 2d614:17 derynibot 5, 4 == 9))

What she discovered made her blood run cold. It would seem more than Trurill and its allegiant manors were in grave peril. Jass must be told, and not him alone. Duke Dhugal must be informed as well, and through him, the King.

There was no help for it, she must leave at once, or at least as soon as she changed her clothing and informed Sir Cillian of what had transpired so he could report it to Jass upon his arrival if she had not returned by then. But in the meantime, someone needed to clean up this bloody mess....

Throwing open the door to the antechamber, startling her sleeping maidservants to instant wakefulness in the process, she yelled, "GUARD!"

Archbishop Duncan had many pressing issues upon his mind as he returned to his study within the Cathedral after leaving the king's side. One item in particular nagged at him. Ignoring all the ceremony of returning and the many secretaries that had invaded his office to continue the days work. Duncan sat at his desk, pulling parchment and quill before him, to write a private letter.

Unto His Grace Stephen, Bishop of Cassan,

I am recently informed of small instances of unrest from the See of Meara. I would like to ask you to be aware of any transgressions that occur within our province of Cassan that may help us determine the intensity of this unrest. I request for you to report back to me that which you consider important on the matter. I value the safety of my Cassan and Mearan people. I do not wish to see a reprise of Mearan’s history in replay.

On a more personal note. It has come to my attention that a man of the church has enjoined with the son of my cousin in his travels to Rhemuth. The name I was given of this good priest is one Father Columcil. I do recall many years back ordaining a man of this name. I wish to inquire if this can be the same priest who presides in a country parish of Cassan dedicated to Saint Melangell. Can you give me some assurance of this priest’s good character. Perhaps you can determine for me what it was in the first place that has set the good Father with his feet upon the road to travel to Rhemuth. Be assured that I am grateful for the services in which I have so far heard that he has given to the members of the group that he travels with. I am told his deeds have been invaluable for their continued Health and Spiritual well being. I wish to learn the full details of how this all came to happen.

Signed with the flourish of the archbishops signature and the seal of his office.

Duncan reviewed the letter, folded it and sealed the outside and addressed it to Bishop Stephen of Cassan.

With a nod to his secretary, Father John, he handed across the letter. “Can you see that this reaches its intended? Today?

“Aye, your Grace, I will,” john said with a bow and departed for the nearest Portal.

Dhugal listened to his vassal's lady in silence, wishing he'd grabbed a linen shirt to wear under the itchy woolens he'd hastily garbed up in. He'd hardly had time to dress at all, given the unexpected arrival in the pre-dawn darkness, much less awaken his lady wife, now yawning sleepily at his side as they received Baroness Ailidh in their withdrawing room. He would have allowed Mirjana her rest, but it would have hardly been circumspect of him to have received a lady into the ducal presence at this hour of the morning without his duchess present, even if said lady was practically family. Well, practically foster family, at any rate.

Ailidh had just come through the Ballymar Portal--practically tumbled through, to hear Sir Seamidh report it--looking as though she'd taken no more time in dressing than he had. It was not the misaligned lacing of her bodice that bothered him nearly as much as the telltale smear of blood that still stained her collar bones and the tiny splatters that dotted one side of her jawbone where she'd managed to miss it in her hasty ablutions before returning to Cassan with her news. The sight stirred Dhugal's protective ire. Ailidh's attacker would have met with swift and sure justice at the Duke's hand, had Ailidh not already meted out even swifter judgment herself. Not for the first time, Dhugal had to wonder how Jass's bonnie lass could be so terrifying.

"So the man was planning on smothering you with a pillow, yet you say he didn't actually plan to kill you?" he asked, the point needing clarification. Or perhaps a decided lack of sleep was simply making him slow to catch on.

"Aye, his intent was clear enow, once I Death-Read 'im," Ailidh said, the stress of the past hour causing her to partially revert to the Transha dialect of her childhood rather than the more polished Court speech she'd learned as a young maiden fostered out for an education more befitting to a young woman whose mother had had the good fortune to remarry into the lesser nobility. "He meant tae put me out long enow f'r me shields tae drop."

"For what purpose, if not to kill you? To control you?"

"Aye." Ailidh took a fortifying swig of Old MacRorie, having previously politely declined the darja tea Mirjana had originally offered her in favor of the stronger libation. The color began to return to her cheeks, and along with it, her composure and a bit more of her Court polish. "Th' bluidy bastard wanted to set controls in my mind to betray Your Grace." Dhugal hid an inward smile despite the grim recital she was sharing. Ailidh's Court polish, such as it was, was a quite relative thing.

"Thank God it didn't come to that, then. The last place I ever want to find myself is on the other side of a battle with Ailidh MacArdry." He kept his voice light, knowing that despite the brave front his loyal friend wore, she was deeply shaken by the experience she'd just been through. He needed the levity to keep his own head clear also, to hold at bay the blind rage he could feel simmering just under the surface of his thoughts, that anyone might dare mistreat one of his own in such a way, but he needed his thoughts clear just now.

Taking a deep breath, now that the shock of Ailidh's news had blown away the last lingering cobwebs of sleep, he reached out a hand palm-up to her. "Show me," he asked as he began to center himself in preparation.

Their rapport had the natural ease that came with decades of familiarity between them, and the images flowed from her mind to his like a rushing river, one image tumbling after the next in the space of a few seconds. And then she was done, her mental touch retracted, retreating once more behind shields even more ordered than before, now that the pent-up tensions had been released in that same flow, to be replaced by weary relief. Dhugal assimilated the memories, assorting them into an orderly pattern. "So. It seems that you were to leave Trurill vulnerable to the separatists, so they could take over the keep and set up defenses before Jass's return later this morning. That would have been a nasty shock." Dhugal mentally reviewed the faces of the conspirators involved in the Trurill plot, and the associates the dead man had known, who took their orders from the same person. That person looked oddly familiar, but at the moment Dhugal couldn't quite place him. He turned to his Duchess, sharing most of Ailidh's information with her also, aside from editing out the worst of the gore. Lingering on that last image, he Sent a silent question into her mind.

Mirjana paled. "I have never seen that man before, but I can guess who he must be, for he bears a strong likeness to another man I can never forget, try as much as I'd like. But I never thought to see a son of Teymuraz of the House of Furstan extending his reach so deeply into the heart of Meara and even here in our more distant Cassan."

Aliset looked strangely at Columcil wondering whether the stress of the healings had all been too much for him."Your pardon, Father, but we have water. Leastways I've a couple of full waterskins strapped to Papillon's saddle and Washburn would not have survived with a whole skin as a squire if he had forgotten something so basic."

She got up and unstrapped the water skin and handed it to Columcil with a smile. He smiled sheepishly and took it with thanks.

"Aye, you can laugh at me for being daft, I'll no' mind. Mind if we canna leave here soon then we'll need to find more water for the horses, unless you clever folk have a way of getting them to drink from a water skin. We'll need water for when the other two wake up, I'd best see what else is in these saddle bags".

He went to the horses in turn and untied their packs. Rummaging around in them he was pleased to find that along with enough water for at least a day or two there were basic travel rations. They all needed something to replenish their strength, though he heaved a reminiscent sigh for the glories of the tavern's venison pies. As he approached Darcy's horse, Sigrun, the beast turned to nuzzle him happily, trying to eat his jerkin. He spent a few moments enjoying stroking one of less complicated of God's creations, a welcome change from the evil of humanity that he was getting all too well acquainted with. He unstrapped the water skin and opened it to make sure that the water was fresh. A strange smell assailed his nostrils and he took a sip. Hastily resealing the skin he began to laugh and as the strain of the last few days took him he found himself clutching Sigrun's side for support. He must get a grip on himself or Lady Aliset really would think he had gone daft.

At her quizzical look he managed to gain enough control to hand the skin over and get out a few words.

"Trust our Darcy. You best not drink this - he might forgive you for borrowing his shape, but drink his ale, never!".

Logged

"In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God and the Word was God...The Word became flesh and dwelt amongst us and we have seen His glory, full of Grace and truth."Prologue to John's Gospel

Aliset giggled. "Speaking of borrowed shapes...." She closed her eyes briefly, murmuring the words of a spell while tracing the oval of her face with one finger, transforming her likeness back to Lord Alister. With a smile at Darcy, she added, "I suppose you'd rather not have to deal with watching yourself for the rest of our journey, and wondering if you've still got some lingering double-vision! And the disguise is pointless now; no one looking out for us is going to be fooled into thinking you have an identical twin who just happened to join you along the way to Rhemuth! For that matter, I suppose I could just drop the disguises altogether."

"Nay, my lady; you still have your reputation to maintain," Father Columcil reminded her gently. "'Tis best to preserve appearances as best we can, given our extraordinary circumstances, though I think few would fault you for doing as you must to secure protection and flee to the King's safety." Gesturing towards Aliset's changed features, he added, "This likeness should serve."

"Aye." Aliset turned towards Darcy with a considering look. "Master Darcy, I know you've seen far too much magic for your comfort of late, and perhaps this is not the best time nor the place, although in truth we can hardly count on safer shelter between here and Rhemuth than where we find ourselves now. The truth is, whether you were aware of it or not before now, and even though you seem wholly untrained in your powers, you are Deryni. But please don't let that frighten you! Being Deryni is neither good nor bad in and of itself. Even the Church has mostly come to accept that now, albeit some people of Gwynedd have been slower to come around, especially in the more distant corners of the Kingdom." She picked up a twig, twisting it between her fingers before momentarily igniting one end of it briefly with a pass of her hand over the tip, holding the flame aloft for a few seconds before dousing it with another wave of her fingers. "Think of the powers within you as being similar to fire. When used properly and responsibly, it is of great benefit to mankind. We can cook with it, warm ourselves with its heat, see clearly in its glow. But the same energy can be turned to evil purposes as well, in the hands of someone with darkness in their heart. One might set fire to a house, or destroy a farmer's crops, or burn a Deryni at the stake with it." She met Darcy's gaze with a wry smile. "The good or evil is in the man, not in the gift of power. But with power comes the responsibility to learn to wield it well, and ever in service of the Light."

Offering her hand to him, she continued, "Master Darcy, if you would trust me to help you as I might upon our journey, I wish to do something that should hopefully enable you to come into your budding powers more safely, and if there is aught that I can teach you along the way, I shall gladly do so. What I have in mind for now is something we call a training control. You are not a child, and I trust your good judgment not to attempt to use your newfound powers wantonly, so I don't wish to set the sort of controls in your mind that we would use on a young child, to prevent the use of powers until a certain level of maturity has been reached. Instead, what I propose is a lighter control that would simply prevent you from accidentally doing something that might endanger yourself or others in your company. You would still be able to learn and grow in your magic use, should you choose to do so--and I hope you do so choose--but in the meantime I feel it would be best if we minimize your chances of inadvertently doing severe harm with an attempt gone wrong, or even with some stray burst of energies inadvertently released during a moment of intense fear or panic, which has been known to happen in the past with Deryni just coming into the use of their powers. Would you agree it would be best to minimize such risks, Master Darcy?"

Darcy looked wary, understandably reluctant to let anyone set any sort of controls in his mind. His gaze back at her reflected a momentary inner battle, but at last he sighed. "I've trusted all of you this far. I suppose it couldn't hurt to allow that. I wouldn't want to accidentally endanger you in any way, after all." He favored her with a lopsided grin. "Would you mind leaving me enough control to wreak havoc on our enemies, though--inadvertent or not?"

Aliset laughed. "My good man, you may wreak all the havoc that you like amongst our enemies!" She sobered. "Just try not to kill others, even our foes, unless you absolutely must. We've worked so hard in the past few decades to show the human majority of mankind that Deryni in and of ourselves are not the enemy, and need not be the cause of mindless fears. But it is difficult not to fear what you do not understand, as you well know, Master Darcy, and so we must not feed such fears with our actions if there is aught we can do to prevent it."

The younger Lord Morgan awoke from a nightmare that he swore should have been far worse than death if it had actually come to pass. The relief of hearing voices familiar and calming was unlike any he had ever experienced. For a moment, his hand pulled the Camber medallion from his tunic. Even without opening his eyes, he whispered words of forgiveness for his lapses and appreciation of the Saint’s way for allowing him such good fortune and such good people to have at his side. When he opened his eyes, he saw the other’s watching him and he blushed. Self-consciously, he placed the saint’s medal back under his tunic.

He closed his eyes tight again, for a moment, assessing his condition. He was surprisingly pleased to feel a semblance of repairing shields that he could bring back into play. They were not anywhere near as strong as his normal state, but any strength to them at all at the moment was a blessing. He most certainly did not like this state of vulnerability that Maresha induced.

“If I never experience that drug again, it will be too soon,” he said aloud as he sat up pulling his knees to his chest and resting one hand under his chin there. The other hand rubbed his forehead. The headache was still there, but only a minor irritation. From experience, he knew that could last a day, possibly even two. Only time would fully return all his Deryni facilities to his control. Yet, he had better control now than he thought possible.

“Aliset?” he was unsure if the man who had Alister’s face was really the lady, but it had to be, no one else would have taken that form. “What ever tanist drug you gave me, seems to do its job well. You were wise to have procured it.” Just seeing the three friendly faces watching him made him smile. “Bless you, Father, you are a miracle worker. I cannot even begin to express my thanks.” His eyes followed the priests to the pile of three crossbow darts lying together at the edge of the barrier. He shivered! Three? Damn!

He turned his head back swiftly to look at Master Darcy who must have taken two darts from the enemy ((the second non-maresha bolt must hadve been used to get Darcy out from the tree, that one had failed its purpose, however.)) The seaman sat cross-legged looking pale for his ordeal but as Healed as Washburn was. “I am sorry for what I have caused you to endure. Merasha is nasty even for humans…” Washburn set a reassuring hand on the mariner's wrist. He encountered the man's reforming shields and something more behind them finding its own recovery from the drugs effect, much the same as his own. Wash gasped for a moment. Human’s didn’t react that way to the Merasha, and the evidence opened the knight’s eyes wide. “You have Deryni abilities in your blood, did you know that?” He looked at the others, for each of them was nodding, having already discovered Darcy’s hidden traits.

“A true protector indeed!” he exclaimed with a nod, accepting the man as Aliset’s guardian. “All of you…” he couldn’t finish the words. His relief was so profound.

“Now, if only we had some of that ale?” he managed to inquire instead. “My throat is parched.”

Aliset slanted a teasing grin at the knight. "Trust a man to awaken from being half dead when he hears someone mentioning ale!" Sobering and looking somewhat in awe, she added, "And speaking of Deryni powers and training, I'm quite impressed by yours, Sir Washburn! Two merasha darts would have felled most Deryni instantly, not merely caused them to stumble around a bit as they sprinted through dense forest. Whatever your secret is for combating merasha's effects, I would dearly love to learn it!" She grinned once more. "Even if your coping skills weren't quite up to the task of preventing you from adding your own special touches to my lovely new latrine!"

Darcy Cameron reclaimed his water skin and the wrapped piece of berry pie he had somehow neglected to give to Lady Aliset. “This is not water,” he warned his companions as he passed the skin around. They took grateful, though small, drinks from the skin while Darcy withdrew his eating knife from his belt and cut the pie into four small pieces. Never had so small a celebratory feast tasted so good!

But they were not out of the woods yet, both literally and figuratively. They all seemed to realize it at the same time. Father Columcil stoppered the “water” skin and returned it to Darcy.

Darcy cleared his throat reluctantly and looked at Aliset, now in her guise as Alister. “Not knowing how much longer we can stay,” he began after a moment, “perhaps you should do whatever you need to do about those training shields now.” Darcy wondered if he sounded as nervous as he felt.

“If you are ready,” Aliset said. “Perhaps we should sit.” Aliset moved toward the centre of the dome, sat, and patted ground across from her. Darcy sat down on the designated spot, cross-legged as usual. He noticed that “Alister” had assumed a more lady-like position. If he survived this, he would mention it to her.

Aliset held out her hand, palm upwards. Darcy placed his calloused hand on top. Father Columcil and Washburn moved to one side to watch.

“Roll back your shields,” Aliset said. They were still so fragile that she could have forced her way through them easily, but that would have severely impacted Darcy’s trust! After a moment she felt his shields roll back, much smoother than they had previously. “That’s much better, Master Darcy. You are getting the hang of it.”

Darcy managed a small smile, wondering what would happen next.

Logged

From ghoulies and ghosties and long-leggity beasties and things that go bump in the night...good Lord deliver us!

Aliset allowed her psychic touch to linger lightly just on the surface of Darcy's unshielded mind, giving him time to grow accustomed to the sensation. "Do you feel this?" she asked him.

Darcy started to nod, but stopped, unsure whether moving his head might hinder whatever she was attempting to do. "Yes," he replied. "It's like...a soft brush of...maybe a butterfly's wing inside my head."

She smiled. "Good. There shouldn't be any pain, or even much pressure, but I'm glad you are able to detect something. Now what I want you to do is try to follow that touch as I go deeper, and see if you can sense what it is that I am doing as I go. And it's fine to move your head; that won't affect anything one way or another."

"Um...all right." He felt a bit awkward, not knowing what to expect, but he trusted that Aliset knew what she was doing.

"Imagine a small child learning how to write his letters for the first time. Pretend I am tracing them in the sand, like so...." She traced a shape along the surface of his mind. "And now imagine that child following along with that motion, his small finger atop the one teaching him his letters. Only instead of using our fingers, we will be using our minds. Just try to relax and follow what I'm doing with your mind."

"All right." Darcy wasn't certain what Aliset meant, but he'd do his best to work it out as they went.

Sensing his readiness, Aliset began to probe deeper. As she did, her eyes met his. "I am just going to search for the spot where I need to set this training control. I promise not to wander out of bounds, or go fishing for any thoughts or memories I have no business knowing. Lesson one on Deryni ethics--never go eavesdropping on others' minds without permission unless the need is great." She smiled. "And by need, I mean if lives are at stake, for instance. I'm not talking about simply wanting to discover some pretty barmaid's name!"

Darcy chuckled. "So noted."

"All right, we should be just about.... Oh, that's interesting!" Aliset cocked her head to one side, studying him with a considering gaze.

Darcy felt self-conscious. "What's interesting?"

Returning her focus to the area, Aliset murmured, "Apparently someone in your early childhood was aware that you're Deryni, because there's already a training control in place!" Meeting his eyes again, she added, "It's a childhood control--the more restrictive sort I mentioned earlier. I will need to remove that block and replace it with one that is more appropriate to your age and current learning needs. May I?"